As we explore mental health beyond the mainstream lens, revisit GRANN’s early vision for a more humane community sector and imagine what authentic autistic community could feel like (keep reading for that piece next), we also need space for honest reflection. This piece looks gently at lateral ableism — the ways harm can surface within community spaces — not to assign blame, but to deepen care, accountability, and connection as we keep building forward together.
When we talk about ableism, we often imagine it coming from systems, institutions, policies, or people with obvious power. And while that harm is very real, there is another form that can be quieter, harder to name, and more painful because of where it happens.
It’s called lateral ableism — harm that occurs within disabled and neurodivergent communities.
This is not a conversation about blame.
It’s a conversation about care.
About honesty.
About learning how to hold one another better.
What do we mean by lateral ableism?
Lateral ableism shows up when disabled or neurodivergent people, often unintentionally, reproduce the same standards, expectations, and hierarchies that have harmed us.
It can look like:
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Judging others’ needs through our own capacity or access
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Valuing some forms of disability, communication, or independence over others
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Expecting sameness instead of difference
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Policing how someone should advocate, cope, heal, or show up
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Withdrawing care when someone’s support needs change
Often, this doesn’t come from malice.
It comes from survival.
Why it can happen
Many of us have been taught — explicitly or subtly — that safety, access, and belonging are limited resources. That to be heard, we must be “reasonable.” That to be included, we must be easy to support. That to be respected, we must perform disability in acceptable ways.
These messages don’t disappear just because we find community.
Sometimes they follow us inside.
Internalised ableism doesn’t always stay internal. Under pressure, stress, scarcity, or burnout, it can leak sideways — into our relationships with each other.
Naming this doesn’t mean we’ve failed.
It means we’re human.
Why it matters to talk about it
Community spaces are often where we go to rest from harm. When harm happens there — even quietly — it can cut deeper.
People withdraw.
Trust erodes.
Voices go silent.
And often, the harm remains unnamed because no one wants to fracture community further.
But silence doesn’t protect us.
Reflection can.
A neuro-affirming way forward
At GRANN, we believe that acknowledging lateral ableism is part of building safer, more sustainable community — not tearing it down.
That means:
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Making room for different access needs, even when they conflict
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Recognising that capacity fluctuates — especially during burnout
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Understanding that communication differences are not disrespect
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Allowing people to change, need more, or step back without penalty
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Valuing repair over perfection
It also means slowing down.
Asking questions instead of making assumptions.
Choosing curiosity over judgement.
This is not about calling people out
It’s about calling each other in.
About remembering that many of us are unlearning harm at the same time as we’re trying to survive it. That we are all shaped by systems we didn’t choose. That growth doesn’t happen through shame — it happens through safety.
Holding community with care
Lateral ableism is not proof that community doesn’t work.
It’s proof that community is real — and that it needs tending.
If we can notice when harm happens without rushing to blame,
If we can repair without erasing impact,
If we can honour difference without ranking it,
Then community becomes not just a place of belonging, but a place of growth.
At GRANN, we’re committed to having these conversations gently, openly, and with compassion — because we believe disabled and neurodivergent communities deserve spaces where we don’t have to be perfect to be safe.
This is part of how we build forward together.